


Pacing.

by worth_the_risk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worth_the_risk/pseuds/worth_the_risk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What fight would you choose to lose?"<br/>"Nevermind, Barton."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacing.

He slammed the door and threw the keys at the table so hard that they skipped across the aging wood and landed somewhere across the kitchen.  
  
"It's not that bad, honestly. I don't know why you're so -"  
  
"Natasha, holy fuck, not that bad?"  
  
"I've had worse, it's fine."  
  
"You're telling me that a broken leg and a broken shoulder blade aren't that bad?"  
  
"Better than a broken spine and two broken legs. Much better."  
  
"You - ? Whatever. That's not the issue at hand."  
  
"There is no issue at hand. I underestimated my opponents, that's all." She shifted uneasily in her wheelchair, an imperceptible communication of emotion - imperceptible to someone who didn't know her like her partner did.  
  
Clint picked up the signal, but it did nothing more than prompt him to roll his eyes. "You are too fucking proud for your own goddamn good."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You didn't underestimate anything, Natasha. You overestimated your own abilities. You do it far too often, most of the time you're talented enough to get yourself out of it, but this time you paid for it in blood. We both did. What were you thinking?"  
  
"I was thinking that I was completely capable of handling five muscled goons on my own, as I usually am. I underestimated them. And I did my time in that hospital - you know how much I hate hospitals - And now we're home, and I'm still in enough pain to not need you shouting at me!"  
  
"Someone's got to shout at you, Tash, and I'm probably the only person alive who will remain intact after doing it! I don't give a fuck if you're in a wheelchair or not, you need to hear it." He put his unbandaged hand on his hip. "You don't work alone anymore. You need to coordinate with your partner. Or we end up standing in the kitchen of your fucking safe house and screaming at each other, torn to shit. How hard is it to wait for me?"  
  
"How hard is it to keep pace with me?" she spat.  
  
"How fucking hard is it to tell me what you're doing so I can keep pace with you?"  
  
Her eyes fell to his broken wrist and skittered away to the lost keys.  
  
"You're so fucking stubborn, Natasha. If anyone or anything ever played on your bullheadedness the right way, they'd kill you."  
  
"No, they wouldn't."  
  
"Yes, they -"  
  
"No, they wouldn't. There are few fights I would lose, and losing them would be a choice."  
  
"You didn't lose this one?" He eyed up her casts and sling.  
  
"No. We obtained the information we were after and you killed the men I didn't." She paused uncomfortably. "We didn't lose this one. However, had you not been there, I would not be here." She was quiet for a time, and his breathing slowed. "Happy?"  
  
"No, I'm not happy. My wrist is broken and I can't use my bow and you're sitting there all ripped up and we can't even have tear-down drag-out angry sex to get rid of all this adrenaline." She giggled and he barked one quiet laugh, "It sucks!" After a finally comfortable pause in their conversation, Clint blinked. "What fight would you choose to lose?"  
  
"Nevermind, Barton," she murmured, rolling her way toward her bedroom.  
  
"At least let me help you change clothes?" he offered, trailing behind her.  
  
"What, you think just because you're a bossy asshole that I'm not going to let you sleep in my bed?" He grinned where she couldn't see, letting it slide off his face before stepping into her bedroom.  
  
"Help me get this stupid sling off." She was struggling in the chair, trying to slide it down the muscled curve of her shoulder without jolting her damaged back.  
  
"Careful, Tash," he murmured, kneeling next to the armchair and loosening the straps before lifting them enough to allow them to comfortably fall off of her. "Keep your arm -"  
  
"- where it is, I know," she smiled softly. He lifted her other arm out of the shirt before gingerly pulling it over her right side. "Thank you." He nodded, kissing the curve where her neck met her shoulder. "Why didn't you bring everything you shouted at me for up while I was still in the hospital?"  
  
"I'm not going to fight with you when you're already in a place you loathe, Natasha. I may be rude but I'm not an asshole."  
  
"Yes you are."  
  
"Not to you."


End file.
